


The Scent Of Cigarettes and Whiskey

by planetsaints



Series: Boys Like Boys [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anxiety, Gay Character, High School AU, I love this pairing so much god, Lonely night, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-25 16:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18265088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetsaints/pseuds/planetsaints
Summary: Nicotine and whiskey were hardly a healthy or enjoyable mixture of smells, but it smelled like Stan, and it smelled of comfort.





	The Scent Of Cigarettes and Whiskey

The room had gotten so much colder when Tweek awoke to find himself alone in the bed. The sheets were crumpled where Stan had lain, and when wiry fingers traced along the wrinkled fabric there was a chill that ran down his body, making him somehow feel perhaps even lonelier than before. Tweek knew that his companion was probably just gone to the bathroom to relieve himself, but there was always that nagging part of him that suggested abandonment; it was stupid paranoia at the most, and Tweek tried as hard as he could to dismiss the intrusive thoughts.

The blond sat up slowly, still groggy from having only just woken up. He shivered, the cold of the quiet room enveloping him to his very core. Even the thick comforter that was spread across Stan’s bed felt cold to the touch; Tweek found himself only growing colder when he draped the blankets around his shoulders, and promptly removed it. He pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging his shins tightly in hopes of preserving his body heat. Each lonely second felt like an eternity, and he damned his anxiety for making him feel that Stan had completely and totally abandoned him.

The distant sound of a door opening frightened Tweek, and he jumped a bit in fright. A distant knock. “Hey, hurry up in there, I gotta use the bathroom.” It was Stan’s dad; Randy was up for his third bathroom break of the night. Tweek’s heart took its sweet time to settle down, pounding in his chest at the fear of a goddamn _sound_. Stan wasn’t there to tell him it was just Randy and to hold him in the comforting way he normally would.

Tweek’s eyes stumbled upon the prized jacket that Stan had draped so perfectly on the chair of his computer desk just across the room. The moonlight that cracked through the window illuminated the carefully stitched threads that formed the last name _MARSH_ and the number 01, which appeared much larger underneath the name. The blond scooted off the bed, shuffling his way over to the table and trailing his wiry fingers across the stitching. The fabric still felt warm despite the chill of the room, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke still lingered on it from earlier in the day. Tweek slowly pulled the jacket off of the chair, pulling it over his shoulders; there was already a sort of comfort to it as it Stan himself was touching him, or at least a part of Stan was touching him. Hugging him, even. And when Tweek slid his skinny arms through the sleeves he found that his fingertips couldn’t even reach the cuffs; Stan was so much bigger than he was, and it became that much more obvious to him when the jacket was basically swallowing his body whole.

He made his way back to the bed, sitting down smack in the middle with the bottom of the jacket draping underneath his bottom and thighs. The faint scent of whiskey was also recognizable when he really focused on it; pear notes, Tweek noted, were prominent in the types of whiskey that Stan enjoyed. Nicotine and whiskey were hardly a healthy or enjoyable mixture of smells, but it smelled like Stan, and it smelled of comfort.

The boy flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a small smile. Everything was already starting to feel better just with the warmth and smell of Stan’s jacket. He rolled onto his stomach, stretching his arms out in front of him and burying his face in the fabric that surrounded his upper arms. He rolled again onto his back, letting out a quiet giggle.

The scent of the jacket brought back a memory—the first time he ever wore the jacket, back around when they had first gotten together. Panic attacks were fairly common for Tweek, and sound sensitivity often made it worse. Being at a football game proved this when Tweek found himself unable to breathe, having to leave his seat and find a quiet space. He supposed Stan had seen him leave, because the black-haired boy had told him he’d spent most of half time looking for him, and what was left of half-time had been spent comforting the blond until he could at least sort of breathe again. Stan had draped his football jacket around Tweek’s shoulders, telling him that it would hopefully at least serve as a comfort when Stan couldn’t be next to him—Stan’s hopes were right, and though it wasn’t quite him it was at least _him_ enough to act like a stand in.

Tweek eventually found himself in the same position he had been in when he’d initially woken up; lying down, facing the door with his head resting on the pillow. The memory was still implanted firmly in his mind, and the boy hoped it would weave its way into his dreams. It was a comfort, warm and overwhelming like the jacket. Tweek’s eyes fluttered shut as he curled up in the blanketing piece of clothing.

The night didn’t feel quite so cold and lonely now.


End file.
